


Guardian Angels

by WerewolvesAreReal



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02
Genre: Angst, Between Seasons/Series, Gen, Kakure Kirishitan, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Separation, outside perspective, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the digital portal closes at the end of 01, TK looks for a new guardian angel. This search leads mostly to heartbreak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guardian Angels

“TK, the rest of the group is moving.”

Takaishi Nancy tugs on her son's hand, but the nine-year-old seems rooted in place. He stares up at the painting in front of them, eyes huge.

“We're going to fall behind, TK, let's go,” she tries again.

“How do you think they know?” TK asks.

“What?”

“The people who paint them.”

“I don't - “

“How did the people who painted the angels _know,_ Mom?”

TK's question is loud. A few people stare, or pointedly _don't_ stare. He keeps looking at the painting. “We need to find the tour group,” Nancy only says. “Come on.”

This time, he goes.

* * *

 

On the way home from the art gallery, TK is oddly pensive. She can see the touch of a question in his eyes when he looks at the world. _How did they know, how did they know,_ and she wants to just turn around and tell him bluntly, _they didn't,_ but, well.

How does _she_ know?

* * *

 

Matt doesn't like taking calls from her. This shouldn't hurt – she's used to it, by now – but Nancy likes to use any excuse to call him, and hopefully bridge the gap, and Matt never turns away an excuse to talk about TK. But, “It's not the angels,” Matt dismisses when he hears. “He's fine, Mom. He's just – he misses Patamon. And the other digimon. We all miss them.” It's a rare admission. “He'll get over it.”

When Nancy goes out into the kitchen, TK is sitting on the counter and swinging his legs. He looks up at her approach. “I saw something on TV,” he says.

“Oh?”

“Can we start going to church again? Like when I was little?”

He looks so small that she just wants to hug him. She wants to say yes. And she wants to say, _never,_ because her son fought a demon weeks before and he should be exempt from hearing even the word, now.

“Yes, baby. If that's what you want.”

* * *

 

Until a week ago, Nancy would have comfortably called herself a first-generation _Hanare Kirishitan,_ not from any dislike of the official church but just because she cannot usually be bothered to visit. She supposes she is _Kakure Kirishitan_ again, now, but that is fine. Anything is fine if it makes her son glow like he does when they walk through the church doors.

 _Kakure Kirishitan,_ the so-called 'hidden' Christians, are not so hidden now. When the religion first came to Japan, it was outlawed and mercilessly persecuted. Nancy will not judge this decision; she was not alive then, after all, and she did not know the colonizers that tried to test the merit of the Japanese people. She will very much judge the resulting genocide that resulted for a few more centuries, but that is another matter entirely.

Now, Christians make up only some one percent of the Japanese population, but it is enough, now, to have this church, and _that_ is enough to make TK smile, so Nancy doesn't mind. She sits comfortably in the once-familiar seat of a pew, and TK wiggles into place beside her.

The place fills slowly. The morning fog seems heavy today, and Nancy's eyelids droop as she waits for Sermon to begin. She pinches herself discreetly. She is not a child, and she should be setting a good example for _her_ child. But it is TK who is bright and alert at her side, almost quivering with anxiety, waiting to drink in the priest's words as the old man himself wanders with slow, meandering feet to the front.

There is some nice message about neighbors, and forgiveness, and family. Today the sermon seems to focus on forgiveness. “Forgive them, for they know not what they do,” the man quotes, and yes, that is familiar, she knows that line, at least. She wonders guiltily if TK does. She has a bible in the house – in her room, anyway. Has he even read it? “It doesn't matter what we've done, or how often we've done it, we can be forgiven – not because we deserve it, but because we don't.”

Just when Nancy thinks she might be able to appreciate the sermon – it _is_ a nice sentiment, at least, and the words, the atmosphere, are relaxing – TK starts to grow restless. She looks at him. He's glowering, _glaring,_ at the priest.

Nancy is probably not a good mother, but she takes his hand, quietly, and doesn't say a word. Together, they slip out, abandon the church and god, and go home.

And in the car, all TK will say is, “There are some things you can never forgive.”

Nancy has a thousand questions, and she doesn't ask any of them.

* * *

 

Matt comes to visit TK and her in Sangenjaiya the next week. He says it's strange, being away for so long. “It's like we've lived in each others pockets, and now we barely see each other, you know?” he asks, and she doesn't, but Matt doesn't really care. So she nods.

They disappear for awhile, and she takes a sick day off work to wait in her house, busying herself with a hundred small tasks so she can wait by the phone just in case something goes wrong. They come back late at night, tired but pleased. Matt stops smiling as soon as he sees her.

“Look what Matt got me,” TK says.

He holds up a tiny, carved porcelain figure, white and lovely. An angel.

She wants to say, _what have you done._ She wants to say, _why would you encourage this._ She wants to say, _don't you realize -_

She says, “That's nice, sweetheart.”

“A reminder,” Matt says. TK smiles. Nancy doesn't scream.

* * *

 

Though Matt doesn't know it, he starts a trend. Nancy doesn't know where the second angel comes from, or the third, but within two weeks TK has five tiny angels standing sentry over his bed. Three of them are lovely. One is passable. The fifth is wooden, his features hacked and rough, so distorted that he looks more like he is screaming than singing. Nancy suspects that TK carved this one himself.

Sometimes, she contemplates the idea of enrolling him in therapy. But what could she say? 'My son's angel-friend is gone? His battle of good and evil in the digital-world is done – I think he might be traumatized?'

And how do you talk about that, a thing like that, with a nine-year-old boy? Her relationship with Hiroaki fell apart over a lack of communication. She still can't reach out to Matt without the boy snarling like a feral wolf. Now she's losing TK, too.

* * *

 

They pass a foreign minister in the streets one day, rambling about the devil and the evils of hell. Nancy averts her eyes. But TK, TK walks up to him.

She knows her son has taken to studying her bible, even if he cannot bear the church, or the words of priests who speak ideas he does not wish to hear. But to this man, babbling crazily at the uninterested masses, he smiles. “Thank you, Father,” he says. “Don't be discouraged. It's important, you know, to always try to keep the forces of darkness at bay.”

The old man beams, and Nancy is afraid.

* * *

 

On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, TK won't go outside. “I don't want to see people,” he says. And, when asked: “Everyone will say 'Merry Christmas'. But they don't mean it, really. Not like we do.”

Nancy never tells her son that he, more than anything else, is convincing her to become atheist.

So on Christmas TK sits inside and prays long and silent on the floor, on what should be a festive day. It's a sober time, and probably, Nancy thinks, the worst Christmas she has had in years.

She thinks she hears, in his muttered prayers, the word _Angemon._

* * *

  
There are twelve angels now, one for each of the twelve apostles. The wooden angel is TK's favorite. “I need to get the next two at the same time,” he tells his mother. “Thirteen is an unlucky number.”

She agrees. She still doesn't know where they come from.

* * *

 

Nancy suspects, though she doesn't know, that TK is lonely at school. This isn't necessarily new, if it is true. He is small and emotional, and outside Matt's protective eye he can even become shy.

He is strong, too. She is very certain of that, now more than ever. She is also very certain that she will never know _how_ strong; more certain that she does not _want_ to know.

But, loneliness is a pervasive thing. She wonders if this contributes to his obsession with the past. She has spoken privately with Hiroaki, only daring to hint at her concerns. To all appearances, Matt is fine. Better than fine.

“He's grown up,” Hiroaki says. “Any man would be proud to have a son like him.”

Perhaps, than, the fault is just with her.

There is an old proverb which says, “You shouldn't burn a house to roast the pig.” She could take TK's tiny angels, his bible, his love of her. She could leave him with no friends and enemies everywhere, in an effort to help, and probably fail. Or she could keep doing this, and watch him fall slowly, instead, while she tries to hold on.

She was never good at cooking, anyway.

* * *

 

“Doesn't that look fun, TK?” Nancy asks.

TK is in a rare good mood, smiling and joking. He should be; it's his birthday in a week, and he looks up at her, grinning. “What does? If you're talking about that ice cream stall, I agree!”

“That, too,” she says. “But I meant the poster. There's a carnival in town. Why don't we go, just the two of us?”

TK goes oddly still.

“That would be a bad idea,” he says finally.

“Wha - “

“I have a lot of things to do this weekend,” he says, interrupting. “And if I go to a carnival – then I might forget, you know?”

“Well, surely just a little break - “

Look at her, arguing with her son to be irresponsible!

“Let's just get some ice cream,” he says, and that's that.

* * *

 

She likes to think TK gets better over the summer – just a little. He goes to another summer-camp. “No dimension-hopping on this one,” she teases as she drops him off. He doesn't smile. She catches the green glint of his digivice under his coat.

But when he returns, he seems happier. “We learned all sorts of things,” he tells her. “I'm better at wood-carving now. And I didn't almost hurt anyone, this time. Except a few times. And we went fishing. I was one of the best fishers. And...”

“You can tell me all about it over dinner,” she laughs.

“Sure. Oh, here. You can hang this on the wall.”

And he hands her a smooth wooden cross. 

He's right. It's much better than his previous carvings.

* * *

 

“When they say the devil tempts you,” TK asks, “and people claim to hear it, how many people do you think actually do?”

“I don't know, TK.”

“Because I mean, I've heard devils,” he says blithely, and a shiver rolls down her spine. “Lots of them. But I don't – I don't know how many people _really_ hear them, and how many people make it up.”

“I don't know.”

“Do you – do you think other people could hear different devils? Or maybe hear digimon, in the digital world?”

“I don't - “

“Do you think, if I believed hard enough, _I_ could hear - “

_ “I don't know!”  _ Nancy shrieks. TK flinches hard against his chair. “I don't – I don't know why you ask me these questions, TK, but I don't know, I've never known, I've never even – I don't even _think_ about these things, do you realize that? And do you realize that no other ten-year-old boy does, either? For goodness sake, have some _fun._ Forget angels! _Forget the digital world!”_

TK sits quietly for a moment. “I'm told that sometimes, the forces of darkness speak through other people,” he says, and rises, and exits.

* * *

 

TK has twenty-five angels in his room, and counting.

* * *

 

He's kind, is the thing. She doesn't have a reason to complain. He's sweet and generous and nice and kind and - 

_ Creepy. _

“For your fight,” he says, dropping a thousand _yen_ into a collection jar for Japanese soldiers. “Against the forces of darkness.”

The volunteer smiles at TK. Nancy knows what the person is thinking. Some variant of _Aw, cute kid._ Yeah. Real adorable.

But TK uses the word 'darkness' all too seriously. As they walk away, she asks, for what she realizes just now is the first time: “TK, what are the forces of darkness?”

He gives the question an unnerving amount of thought. It is not something, she sees, that he treats lightly. “There are divisions,” he says. “Good, and evil. Good triumphs, in the end, but the forces of darkness – those are everything which seek to pervert joy, and happiness, and safety, especially for personal gain.” Then, with more determination: “The forces of darkness are my enemy.”

This is not an addendum.

This is part of the _definition._

“I see,” she says faintly.

* * *

 

Shortly after, Masuo Razan happens.

Razan is a timid, quiet child with long unruly hair. When he appears one day after school, trailing behind TK like some messy shadow, she doesn't know quite what to think. Quickly, she grows enamored. Any friend, surely, can only be a good influence, and Razan is endlessly polite. They disappear into TK's room for hours on end. Finally, finally, he has a good friend.

This lasts for several months. She doesn't talk to Razan much, because he doesn't seem to talk much _period,_ but he is over so frequently she no longer requires prior notice of his visits.

Then she comes home early, one day, and walks into the house quietly. She moves by TK's room, and she hears soft, rhythmic words. Prayer.

Two voices praying.

She hears the word, _Angemon._

And, this has gone far enough. She strides inside and drags Razan up from the floor, where he was kneeling. TK scrambles up. His myriad of angels are splayed about the room like some sick shrine. The macabre wooden one grins at her and seems to wink in the poor lighting.

“Who is Angemon,” she demands.

“Our patron angel,” Razan stutters. She takes him home.

When she returns, TK is grounded. “Maybe forever,” she adds. “My god, TK, you cannot start a _cult!_ I didn't think I needed to explain that!”

“That's not what it was! I just -”

“Then _what?”_

TK closes his eyes.

He takes a breath. “When Diaboromon attacked,” he whispers, “the power of belief gave power to the digimon... I – I thought... if people believed in Angemon...”

“He could come here? _TK...”_

“I just _miss him,_ Mom!”

When tears start to fall from his eyes, she sighs, settling down and tugging her son to her chest. TK buries his head in her shoulder, shuddering with grief.

“Everything will be fine,” she lies. “Everything will be alright.”

* * *

 

Things mend, slowly, unsurely. But Nancy is skeptical. Sometimes, TK will not meet her eyes when she asks how he is. She finds another bible. They have four, now, for just the two of them.

When TK is eleven, Kari comes to visit.

“She needs somewhere to stay for her dance competition nearby,” is how TK explains it. Nancy doesn't really care, either way. She never expects how Kari changes everything.

Because she remembers Kari, vaguely. Kari has one of those digivices, too – a pink and white thing strapped boldly against her backpack. This is enough to make Nancy resentful.

Not that she would say so.

“Lovely to meet you,” is her greeting. “I hope you feel welcome in our home.”

Much more welcome is the shocked noise Nancy can hear, all the way from the kitchen, when Kari enters TK's room.

“What is _this?”_

Low, muffled voices.

“Have you – have you lost it?”

Louder protests.

“You don't see _me_ with a creep-o shrine of Angewomon, do you?”

_ Who? _

A minute later, Kari walks by dragging TK by the arm. “Excuse us, Ms. Takaishi,” Kari mutters tersely without stopping. “We need to talk.”

She drags TK right outside, and they vanish.

Nancy slowly washes dishes, and ponders talking to Kari's mother about setting up regular visits.

* * *

 

“Kari doesn't know what she's talking about,” TK says.

“Kari has been telling me some weird stuff,” Matt calls – specifically calls! - to say.

“Let me talk to TK,” Kari demands.

Nancy has become a carrier-pigeon. And she is the happiest carrier-pigeon to have ever lived. This is the easy part of communication, she knows. Now, perhaps, something is changing.

* * *

 

Nancy is somehow part of a four-person intervention.

It is her, Matt, Kari, and a very confused Hiroaki. Hiroaki doesn't seem to even know why he's here, which is not so much a reflection on him, in fairness, as a reflection on her. She should have been telling him about this fanaticism of TK's before it reached this point. But they are here, nonetheless, and action must be taken.

“He's here,” Matt says.

On cue, the door opens.

TK freezes in the entryway, like he's scented the trap. His eyes fall to each of them, one by one. “Hi everyone,” he says, slowly.

“Son,” says Hiroaki.

“We need to talk,” says Kari, and dear lord, does Nancy admire this girl.

“Umm...”

Matt stands and practically pushes his brother into the room. He sits.

There is an awkward beginning - “We've noticed,” it begins, as it must begin, and, “some concerning things,” and slowly TK starts to switch from confused to angry.

“This better not be what I think it is.”

“Little brother, you're freaking us out.”

“We're concerned,” says Nancy, and Matt shoots her a look of disgust. As though it were a _lie,_ or a sin, somehow, to soften the blow.

“You don't understand.” TK directs the words at her, hot, angry. “You don't understand what it's like, to not have him, to – to - “

“I do,” say Kari.

TK stops.

“So do I,” says Matt.

Kari goes on. “And Gatomon can become Angewomon. But I haven't done this, TK. There's nothing here, nothing about what you're doing that will bring them back. You need to move on.”

“The kid will learn,” Hiroaki says.

“Dad,” Matt hisses.

“He will. Everyone does.” Hiroaki rolls his shoulders. “You pray and pray and pray, and no one answers. Everyone stops believing, eventually. Just got to live long enough.”

“Angemon heard me. Angemon listened.”

“That's different,” Kari says.

_ “How?” _

“Because he was your friend. And look around you, TK. You're not making a lot of friends this way, are you?”

TK doesn't answer.

And Nancy has a moment of clarity. A moment where her communication doesn't fail her. A moment she will treasure and savor and caress for years, for decades after. “Will you tell us,” she asks, “About the times you wanted Angemon to listen?”

TK looks at her.

Slowly, he starts to talk.

* * *

 

Matt and TK are closer, now. Matt feels guilty for not seeing his brother's downswing sooner. This guilt, Nancy knows, is not something she should encourage in her oldest son; at the same time, she is loathe to discourage the brothers' evident new closeness, either.

Nancy and TK move to Odaiba. A fresh change will do TK some good. And if their new home is closer to Kari, and also to Matt, it is also closer to her new job, and Nancy can completely pretend she has only selfish reasons to go.

* * *

 

While packing for the move to Odaiba, many things are thrown out. TK approaches her with a huge box, and when he shows her the contents, she sees his neatly-wrapped collection of angels.

Her throat closes.

“I'm getting rid of these,” TK tells her, quietly. “But I want you to have this – it's special to me. I made it myself. Okay?”

TK holds out the ugly wooden angel.

Nancy smiles.

“I'll treasure it forever,” she says, honestly.

* * *

 

TK still has a bible, and he still prays. Nancy has no interest in taking that from him, if it sincerely gives him comfort. But the angel figures are gone – all but her little wooden carving – and the worst of his obsessive fervor seems to have passed. 

Kari's partner was Angewomon, TK says. She wonders what that implies.

But Nancy knows one thing. If she believes in any miracle, Kari herself is the real hero here for bringing her son back from the edge. She is glad to have him with her still, a family again.

She hopes that, when he starts at this new school in the fall, he can just leave all this digimon nonsense behind and finally be happy.


End file.
